


What's In A Name

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It keeps happening, though, and it keeps getting to him. With instincts honed by years of professional paranoia, Bond knows that whatever Q and Eve are discussing in her office, it’s to do with him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinobi93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinobi93/gifts).



There is something mildly concerning about the fast and firm friendship between Q and Miss Moneypenny. Concerning for everybody else at MI6, that is, who wonder just how long they all have before the inevitable takeover and subsequent world domination.

People look nervous enough when Eve Moneypenny, M’s right-hand woman and almost-killer of James Bond, strides into Q branch, forces Q into a chair and starts force-feeding him food at pen-point (no small threat – Eve can kill you in at least five ways even with a normal pen, and since her best friend may or may not weaponise everything in sight when waiting for certain field agents to come back on comms, assuming it’s a normal pen she’s using might be the last thing you ever do) However, that is nothing compared to the average expression on reporting for a briefing with M and finding a man well-known for petty hacking and petty explosives looking annoyed at having his tea break interrupted.

Even James Bond – not usually well-known for being thrown off by anything less than a nuclear explosion – pauses at the sight of the latter.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” he drawls. 

“Yes,” Q informs him, at the same time that Eve says, “No.”

Bond stays where he is in the doorway. “Very informative. I see British Intelligence is doing as well as ever.”

For once, Q does not respond. This is because Eve wears the sorts of shoes which were designed with weaponry in mind even before they reached the hallways of MI6.

“Dare I ask what you two are doing?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in, Bond,” Eve tells him. “I’ll let M know you’re here.”

Bond smirks. “Please don’t.”

From there, it all proceeds as usual, from M’s weary sigh at the sight of him to the warning not to blow up any embassies (Bond has been getting that one since he made double-oh status). The only deviation from the norm is just before he steps out again, when he distinctly hears Q say, “That was _not_ her name.”

“Not her real name,” Eve replies, “but yes, if you asked, that was what she said.”

Aware of M’s eyebrows slowly raising behind him, Bond reluctantly forgoes the opportunity to gather intelligence on potentially the greatest threat MI6 could ever face and pushes the door open, just in time for Q’s announcement of “That’s going on the list.”

Eve doesn’t bother to hide her smile as she looks up at Bond, knowing full well that it will drive him mad. “Have fun in Siberia. Remember to wrap up warm.”

“Thanks for the tip.” He raises an eyebrow at the two of them – Q’s poker face needs some work, he’s too used to hiding behind a screen – but neither seems to think anything else needs to be said.

They’re up to something.

Not that that is a great revelation – as a rule, Q is always up to something, and Eve is hardly any better – but something about this feels suspicious.

Perhaps it’s just that they are quite so obviously waiting for him to leave.

\----------

It keeps happening, though, and it keeps getting to him. With instincts honed by years of professional paranoia, Bond knows that whatever Q and Eve are discussing in her office, it’s to do with him.

Then there are the odd phrases he catches when M is either bored or exasperated enough to tolerate him eavesdropping on the two of them. At first they had seemed natural enough – ‘on her Majesty’s secret service’, for instance, albeit with less sarcasm than Q usually accorded that phrase – save for the odd emphasis being placed on them. Within a few meetings, though, he found himself wondering exactly why Eve was announcing the fact that tomorrow never dies, or when Q started using phrases such as ‘the world is not enough’. 

Under normal circumstances, the latter might have made Bond reach for his gun – his fingers do twitch – but no. If Q were to go rogue, Bond seriously doubts he would be the sort of criminal mastermind to discuss his plans in over-dramatic fashion right in the middle of MI6. Also, it’s entirely possible Bond trusts both of them, which is disconcerting to say the least.

Nevertheless, despite Q’s comments regarding his intelligence when Bond is chasing terrorists across Venetian rooftops or dangling out of the Burj Khalifa or generally doing his bloody job thankyou very much, Bond is not an idiot. MI6 might value him more for his improbable survival record and tendency to actually get the job done, but they wouldn’t be bothering if he couldn’t put two and two together.

There are so many references to Goldfinger and Moonraker and Dr. No he is willing to let go before a pattern starts emerging.

What he still doesn’t know is why.

He seriously ponders the likelihood of managing surveillance of either of his targets – slim to none – before M snaps behind him, “Bond, I do have a job to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Bond agrees, without moving.

“Bond,” M says in the very reasonable tone that suggests he would like nothing more than experiment with some of his defensive weaponry, “if you do not get out of my office right – ”

Bond misses the rest – shame, he usually likes hearing a good threat – because he definitely just heard them mention a man with a golden gun, and coincidence is for children.

Eve and Q look a little surprised when he suddenly bursts out of M’s office to glare at them. It’s gratifying.

“Why,” he growls, “are you talking about my missions?”

Q blinks at him. Bond might think that he’s innocent, except Q’s eyes are never that large, and the idea that Q would have no idea about something is quite frankly laughable.

To her credit, Eve tries no such tactics. “Not all of them,” she corrects. 

“Yet.” He’s actually a little surprised himself by how angry he is – or would be, if this wasn’t bloody personal. Bond doesn’t have much left to him anymore, besides those missions.

“007,” Q sighs, thankfully giving up very quickly on the Disney princess defence, “it’s nothing to have a tantrum over.”

“I can if I bloody well want to.”

“Oh for – ” Before Eve can stop him, Q reaches out and turns the screen towards him. “There. Happy?”

Bond glares at the screen, and then slowly his frown vanishes in sheer astonishment.

Those are his mission files. He’s seen them enough times – he hates paperwork, so it has an unfortunate tendency to drill itself into his brain as he sits there resenting it – but now there’s something different. As he clicks through, he finds that each one has had an extra line added. Before his number and the mission details, all of the files open now come with a corollary.

_From Russia, With Love_

_The Living Daylights_

_Casino Royale_

“Did you – ” he starts, and then stops, because no, this is _ridiculous_. Except Q is watching him steadily and Eve has the slight pout of a small child waiting for somebody to ruin her fun. “Did you give my missions _titles_?” he asks, an incredulous laugh trying to interrupt the last word.

Q doesn’t shrug, because no doubt such things are beneath him, but Bond is familiar with the resigned expression which means something rather similar. “Perhaps if you didn’t find it necessary to turn every one into a popcorn adventure, we wouldn’t need to,” he comments dryly.

“’Need to’?”

“Do you really mind?” Eve asks, drawing his attention. “We don’t do it for anybody else, you know. Just you.”

Bond really doesn’t know what to do with this information. “This is what you do for fun around here?”

“I can’t spend all of my time making exploding pens,” Q observes.

The list of things that need addressing is enormous – not least Eve’s mutter about what drinking games at work bring – yet Bond allows himself to be distracted by clicking through to one of his earlier files. “ _Quantum of Solace_?” he reads out in disbelief.

Unlike Q, Eve does shrug, and very expressively at that. “We were a little low on ideas. M did that one.”

“Mallory?” 

“He’s very well-read.”

“Evidently.”

This is a little hard to believe. Bond thinks that he’s flattered, but that might just be because that’s the reaction that requires the least screaming.

Then he frowns as he finds himself looking at the report he submitted less than a month ago. “I’m a little surprised Silva hasn’t earned himself a title yet. That should have fitted your criteria.”

“It did,” Eve reassures him – why reassuring, he doesn’t know. “We just weren’t sure.”

He looks up at the two of them. They both seem to be watching him closely, and a little belatedly he realises why. The Silva incident involved all three of them; more than that, there’s the death of M to contend with, Bond’s apparent resurrection, the bombing of MI6. If he’s right, they weren’t sure because they didn’t know what to address. 

He allows them a small smile, before dropping it just as quickly.

“Skyfall.”


End file.
